Self-Healing
by Alju
Summary: Self-healing isn't just about learning to love oneself, it's about letting go of toxic relationships embracing the good things life has to offer while coping with the bad ones. Her journey is a long one, but at her age, she'll surely make it. This is a story about how a woman who gives it all and is rebuked manages to stand up, once again, without losing sight of what truly matters


A/N: This is a personal story, completely AU. I've been going through some hard times and fanfiction has always helped me, so I hope this helps anyone else who's going through a similar situation.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the idea of this story.

 _Always remember not to measure the weight of your problems with someone else's; in the end, what we all look for is a healthy solution.-_

First chapter: Tears.

 **PROLOGUE**

Life commences with screams and tears. It starts with the first breath of air you take once you're introduced into this world, just like any other human being. Sometimes we're welcomed into a loving family, and other times we're not welcomed at all. Life is a series of complex events that, ultimately, lead to your death. As you grow old, the mind starts assimilating common human behavior, mixed in with reasoning, instinct, and most of all, feelings. It's curious how the human mind can delude itself into believing that everything is fine, that there's nothing to worry about; there are worse things out there. When the tears come out though; that gnawing feeling at the pit of your stomach, the knotting that twists and turns in your throat when you try to hold them in, the blood boiling through your veins causing your skin to heat up; when _they_ come out, it means you're not fine at all. Instinct is betraying your sense of logic and reasoning, because they, as with everything human, fail as well.

When you're hurt, you cry. When you're angry, you cry. When you're happy, you cry. Is there reasoning behind this? No, there's not. It's instinctual, not something easily controlled. In her case, there's no need to control it. Tears are the purest expression of human emotion but, strangely enough, there are humans that either deny them or refuse to acknowledge them. She knew what tears meant, having shed them countless times throughout her twenty-two years of living. She cried when she was born as a means of acknowledgement: _I'm here._ She cried when she hurt herself when she fell while riding her bike: _I'm in pain._ She cried when her first relationship ended because of mistrust, jealousy and cheating: _I'm not good enough._ She cried when her brother went through his first surgery because of an accident she unconsciously provoked: _I'm sorry._ She cried when she finally got her diploma in law school: _Disbelief._ She cried when she was disregarded by others, when she felt manipulated by her friends and family: _I don't understand._ She cried when she felt she was alone in the world: _Why?_ She cries, and cries, and cries, because it's the best way for her to express her true and unfiltered feelings to the world. She appreciates the tears, the only constant company in her life. In the end, she believes she'll cry once she dies, as well: _No more tears to shed._ For now, though, since she doesn't know _when_ it'll end, she'll keep crying, because it helps coping with everything else going on in her life.

Kagome understood better than anyone what it was like to cry her eyes out; she's been doing it all her life. She was always a sentimental being, more in tune with her feelings than anything else. Considerate to her friends and family, all she wanted was to receive the same in return. Through rough experiences, however, she learned that she couldn't expect to receive everything she gave in return; it just made her cry more. What was it about karmic justice that appealed so much to her? In principle, it should apply to everyone, but the world just doesn't _work_ that way. She knew that, even if she wished the worst for someone, in the end, she'd regret it. It's not her way of thinking, of living. She had always wanted the best for everyone.

She came to understand love at the tender age of fifteen. Highly unbelievable if you asked any other seasoned adult. _She still doesn't understand what it is; it's just puppy love; it's not like she really suffered through it; I don't understand how she never got over it._ She knew though, what love was. She understood that love wasn't roses and rainbows, that it wasn't just that spark of electricity that coursed through her body every time she thought, spoke, or held her loved one. Love involves sacrifice, hardships, and, most of all, communication.

Her boyfriend at that time was a misunderstood boy; a delinquent product of bad friendships and misconstrued ideologies. She understood all of this, and while she didn't agree with his actions, accepted that she loved him beyond all of those things, because in the end, his heart was worth it. His kindness, his consideration, his empathy towards her were the things that made an impact in her heart. At the tender age of fifteen, however, she was blind. Blind to the temptation of lust, avarice; blind to sins. She couldn't have known her boyfriend, while loving her, desired another. She couldn't have known his will to be so weak to fall into temptation and cheat on her. She couldn't have known because she didn't understand it. _Why_ was it necessary to sacrifice something you nurtured with another human being in order to satiate a willing fancy? And so, she cried, because she didn't understand, because she didn't _want_ to understand, because she didn't want to believe that when she gave her all, it wasn't _good enough_.

At twenty, she learned that not everyone thinks the way she thought. She didn't agree, for she wouldn't sacrifice her basic nature to comply with others. Honestly, loyalty and empathy were thing she would never give up on, for they were what made her, _her._ She cried for them as well, for those that didn't understand the concept of being honest, of accepting the harsh truth for what it was. She cried for those who betrayed her loyalty when she willingly gave it to them without asking for anything but the same in return; She cried when others weren't empathetic with her problems, just because they themselves had, to their understanding, bigger problems to deal with.

Finally, at the tender age of twenty-two, she learned how to let go, and this is where her story of self-healing begins. It begins with tears, and ends with them as well. A means to an end.

* * *

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


End file.
